Playing the Game
by Sioux99
Summary: Third in the Evergreen Trilogy. AU, Incest, don't like, don't read.


Playing the Game

By Sioux

Third in the Evergreen series.

AU, incest, established relationship.

I've taken slight liberties with the pact John makes 'In My Time of Dying'.

Matter of factly Sam pulled his slime covered shirt and t-shirt over his head, dropping both into the plastic bag at his feet.

"Your turn for the laundry dude," he said to his brother.

Said brother was feasting his eyes on the whip cord hard body being revealed in front of him.

"Laundromat first," Sam told him firmly, no stranger to the look of lust on the other man's face.

"When did you get to be such a killjoy?"

"Anticipation heightens the pleasure, Sam said silkily."

"Come with?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Dean, the last time we both came in the laundromat we got thrown out, without the washing."

Dean grinned, sultry mischief shinning from his eyes.

"Yeah, but wasn't it good!"

Despite himself Sam grinned, hooking a hand around the back of Dean's neck and pulling him forward.

"Dude, we're always good."

Two orgasms and one hot shower later found them sitting waiting for the wash cycle to finish. Dean was glancing through the local paper, Sam was using his laptop. Sensing the silence Dean looked up. Sam was starting into space a slight smile on his face. Elbowing him gently in the ribs to bring him out of his reverie he asked his question using the expression on his face.

"Sean," Sam replied.

Dean smiled, a real smile of happiness.

"What's he doing?"

Sam reached over and pulled his brother closer retaining his grip on his hand as they settled shoulder to shoulder. Dean closed his eyes the better to 'see' and 'hear'.

Soap bubbles in a bath, hands, which looked large, plying a soft sponge and a woman's voice talking. Chubby, small boy's hands, throwing a bright red plastic cube into the water and watching the bubbles and water fly. A happy laugh as the woman leaned away from the shower of water.

"Sam! Sam!" the little boy chirruped happily.

"Hey kiddo," Sam replied, thinking the words rather than saying them out loud.

The woman's hands holding the sponge stopped for a second and then continued dipping into the water. Blanche's voice said,

"Sammy's not here right now, Sean."

"Sam," the little boy said, nodding sagely then grinning up at his mother.

Sam saw Blanche's scarred face move into view and smile uncertainly.

"Sam?"

As soon as Sam released his hand Dean lost the picture of bathtime. Still smiling Sam flipped open his phone and hit a speed dial number.

"Did he reach out to you again?" Blanche asked as soon as she answered the phone.

"He does that a lot. It's not a problem."

"It will be if he does that when you're hunting."

"He's never done that. He only does it when I'm relaxed."

He heard the tense tone leave her voice.

"OK."

"Put Sean on."

Sam could hear the delighted giggles in his mind as well as over the telephone. He could also hear Blanche telling her son not grab the 'phone with wet hands.

"Sam!"

"Hey Sean, how're you doing?"

"Good. Dean?"

"Dean's here with me," Sam replied, looking at his brother.

Dean took the 'phone and said,

"Hey big guy. Enjoying bathtime?"

"Yeah! Lotsa bubbles, it's good."

Dean smiled.

"Dean?"

"Yes Sean?"

"Tell Sam I can help."

"Help with what?"

"Tell Sam."

"OK."

Dean frowned and handed the 'phone back to Sam.

"He said to tell you he can help. Help with what?"

Sam looked thoughtful but didn't say anything.

"Sean, thanks. Remember it's our secret."

"I remember."

There was a slight break in the connection as Blanche took the 'phone back.

"What's he helping you with Sam?" Blanche asked.

"He's seen some bits of stuff I've been researching," Sam said, "He's curious."

"Anything I should know about?"

"Nothing special, he just likes to be in on the research."

"If he starts waking up with nightmares I'm going to be blaming you, Sam Winchester," she told him smartly.

"'Night Blanche," he replied, knowing when to let go of the conversation.

"'Night Sam."

Dean looked at his brother in sympathy having only heard one side of the conversation.

"She still not happy?"

"She was worried he might try and reach out when we were hunting."

"Hope he doesn't do that when we're doing other things!"

Even though he laughed, Sam winced. Trying to explain to a curious child just what he and his brother were doing in an intimate moment didn't bear thinking about, especially as their half brother had a tendency to say out loud what he was thinking to Sam. He wasn't too sure how much Blanche had figured out about his relationship with Dean. He also didn't want to traumatise their small half brother either.

Long after Dean had fallen asleep channel surfing, Sam was still working on his computer.

It had taken Sam almost three years to do this research. Three years of very hard work, taking off on his own, against his brother's advice, to speak to people he needed to see. Facing the music when he returned, sometimes bloody, sometimes whole but without the information he sought. The rest of the time he had the light of triumph in his eyes as another piece of the jigsaw was gathered in. Once he had enough information assembled he began to plan. Sean, looking through his eyes, couldn't read all the words but he could take the sense from the mind of his half brother. He knew what Sam needed to do.

Sam had then tried to talk Dean into helping him but Dean refused, point blank, to do so. He insisted Sam find another way. After another year of searching, Sam knew he'd found the only way this could work. He turned his gaze onto Dean's face, relaxed in slumber, his body twisted around in the throw on the bed. If only Dean was so pliable when he was awake, they would be well on their way to getting their father out of the demon's clutches and getting his help in the coming war.

Turning back to his computer Sam opened his pass word protected file and began to read carefully. He read as if he were editing an essay before handing it in. The marks for this essay would be the lives of his brother and half brother and the soul of his father. He read very carefully. There was only one part missing; he didn't know the exact contract his father had agreed to. After that one time when Blanche had faced them both down when she was trying to protect her son, John hadn't contacted either brother again. It was infuriating and frustrating, but at the same time it meant that the demon was keeping his word.

All Sam knew was John had given the colt and his life in exchange for keeping his children safe from supernatural harm and death. Sam prayed, as hard as he had ever done in his life, that the yellow-eyed demon had tied John to a standard contract, terms and conditions applying to both parties. Even getting to know a standard contract had taken some dirty hard work. He refused to dwell on what he had allowed to happen to get that information. A long white scar on the underside of his left forearm was the only outward sign, the rest of the damage was inside; inside his mind and his psyche.

The other team fought dirty, and, over time, Sam had come to do the same. He felt in some ways the start of it had been when he ended Madison's suffering then it rollercoasted on from there. Each deed putting him deeper in the dark. And Dean was always there, walking along beside him. The road to hell was paved with good intentions. Sometimes Sam felt he was already living there.

Getting to the end of the file Sam knew he had done everything he could in preparation. Now it was a matter of arranging a time and a place.

Wearily he shut off his laptop and climbed into bed beside Dean not even bothering to undress.

Sam woke early, morning light bringing with it a hardening of his resolve. Dean snuffled and turned over, his head coming to rest on Sam's chest his arm thrown over him possessively but he didn't wake. Sam fell into a doze until he felt fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt. He smiled down at the drowsy expression on Dean's face.

"We gotta stop falling asleep like this," Dean muttered, working the shirt off Sam.

"I thought you enjoyed undressing me."

"I prefer you ready and willing about now."

Sam grinned and began to assist his brother.

Much later on Dean asked,

"Do we have a job to go to?"

Sam shrugged.

"Sort of."

"Sort of? A definite maybe then?"

He smiled.

"You only need to be there if you want to," Sam said softly.

"What?"

Sam continued starting at the ceiling.

"Oh no! Not again. I told you Sammy, I am not helping you commit suicide."

Sam tightened his hold around Dean.

"I'm not committing suicide."

"Letting something supernatural get at you - that's suicide! I watch your back, we don't let things like that happen to each other."

"I need to do this Dean."

"And if it goes wrong? Dad comes back and rips me a new one because I let you die? Nice one Sammy."

"Dean, if it goes wrong Dad won't come back."

"And neither will you. That's why I'm not helping you."

"OK."

Dean paused in the act of swinging his legs out of bed.

"OK? What are you up to?"

"Sean will help me."

"What is a four year old going to be able to do? That's assuming you get Blanche to agree."

"You saved my life when you were four."

"With Dad's help. Believe me dude, you let Sean get hurt in anyway and I am not standing in the way when Blanche gets hold of you!"

"You're scared."

"Damn right I'm scared. That lady knows some kick ass stunts and she's Sean's mother, like hell I'm standing in her way."

"And if it works we get Dad back."

"I don't get you. If it does work and we get Dad back, I'm betting less than two hours later you two gonna be butting heads again, just like he's never been gone."

"So? That's the way we are. I don't love him any the less for that."

"Oh god! Save me from pig-headed little brothers."

Sam got out of bed and stood up straight.

"You're the only little brother around here," he said, then dashed for the shower leaving Dean hammering on the door, demanding that he leave some hot water. A low dirty chuckle from inside the bathroom was his only reply.

When Sam finally emerged from the bathroom, trailing clouds of steam he found Dean concentrating on the laptop display.

"Get off the porn sites, bathroom's free."

Dean grunted.

Ghosting up behind him Sam saw he was reading through his pass word protected file.

"A lot of good the password did on that."

"Oh please! That was not a password," Dean replied, dismissing his cryptology efforts.

"What do you think?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's attempt to goad him.

In answer Dean stood, put down the screen of the laptop and went to the kettle, picking it up and shaking it to check the water level.

He was silent so long Sam thought he wasn't going to answer.

"It's got potential."

"And?"

"And what Sammy?"

"Are you going to help?" Sam asked, spelling it out.

Dean looked up into his younger brother's face, his heart and soul in his eyes.

Sam dropped his head wanting to punch something out. On occasions having an older brother sucked, this was one of the occasions.

Moving stealthily through the trees, keeping no more than ten yards between them, Sam and Dean kept a careful lookout. A bright moon just setting, although not quite full, provided more than enough illumination. As they drew closer to a cabin, the Impala parked before it, Sam relaxed a little and checked his watch. It was close to dawn.

"What do you think, one more circuit?" Sam asked.

Dean checked his watch, feeling rather than actually seeing the darkness lifting.

"Nah, that was the fourth circuit. We'll go again tomorrow night. Tonight was a long shot. Let's call it, get some sleep."

Dean put the safety on his Glock and holstered it in the back of his jeans, as he pushed open the door of the cabin they were using. It was old, but sturdy. They had swept the floors and left a fire banked down so it was warm and clean. The one large living space held a couple of wooden chairs and a long wooden bench. A tiny area off the main room served as a kitchen, including, miracle of miracles a hand pump to bring up water from the well. Another room held a sagging, rotting mattress and what had once been a handsome dresser. They'd left the door closed on that one.

"I'm gonna be pissed if that thing has changed its hunting ground since last month," Dean said, half turning to Sam.

Looking up at the last moment the thought that the inside of the cabin was darker than it should be crossed Sam's mind before Dean was pulled inside and thrown across the room. A dreadful scream torn from his throat as a bright burst of arterial blood fountained over the walls, floor, ceiling and Sam. Sam pulled his gun, aimed and fired in one smooth movement. The creature, the lycanthrope they had been hunting, hit the floor and lay still. Sam ran to his brother, blood was bubbling between his fingers as he tried to stem the flow from the dreadful parallel gashes across the lower part of his neck and upper chest.

"Dean!"

Desperately Sammy pulled his bag near and pulled out shirts and t-shirts, pressing them to the wounds, anything to slow the awful blood loss. Dean's heels were drumming on the bare boards as if he were trying to run away, his head thrashing from side to side.

"Hold on Dean, hold on."

Before he could say anything else Dean grasped his arm tight.

"Do it," he gasped.

Sammy looked down, not understanding at first, he was trying to get himself quickly into the mind-set to heal his badly injured brother.

"Get the binding spell ready," Dean croaked, his strength leaving him.

"It's supposed to be me," Sammy shouted, "Not you."

Dean didn't have enough breath left to reply, his movements were slowing; he was dying and he knew it.

Suppressing a sob Sam stood and grabbed the tin of salt. Moving quickly he cast two circles on the floor. Dean was at the far end of one of them. The other was empty, the werewolf lay by the half closed door. Leaving the salt tin open Sam looked around for something to write with. Dean's held his hand out to his brother, his whole hand slick and red with his own blood. Sammy scooped up the liquid then he kissed Dean saying,

"I love you, whatever happens, I love you."

He marked the necessary symbols on Dean's hands, even though they didn't show through the blood already there but they would still work. Then he painted the symbols around the inside edge of the other circle, on the palms of his own hands and lastly on the underside the chair seat. He could hear Dean's light breaths bubbling from the wounds in his neck, his chest hardly moving at all. His eyes were glassy, staring straight up at the cabin ceiling. Panic bloomed in Sam's chest. What if this didn't work? He'd not only lost his father but his beloved brother and lover too. A noise to his right switched his attention as he reached for his gun, too late remembering it was beside Dean now, slowly being covered in the ever widening pool of blood. Acid sharp pain ran across his abdomen and he was flying. The sick thud of his body hitting the cabin wall melded with the sound of gunshots.

Dean was aiming at the werewolf and with the last of his energy he was emptying the clip of his gun into it.

The werewolf screamed as its body jerked to each silver bullet entering its flesh.

Sam half sat, his knees drawn to his chest, his hands ineffectually trying to hold in his spilling intestines. He jerked his head back away from the indescribable smell and heat as his insides slid from between his fingers. Then the pain hit; he gritted his teeth, moaning. It was as much as he could manage to stop himself screaming. To get this to work, he couldn't use his powers on himself either.

The smoking gun dropped from Dean's nerveless fingers, his lips caressing and shaping his final breath into a word.

"Sam."

Giving one last twitch the werewolf lay still, the fur retracting, leaving the naked body of a middle-aged man lying beside the door.

Sam realised he should have noticed the lycanthrope hadn't changed back after he'd shot it, telling him it wasn't dead.

In the other circle a warm breeze blew, circulating the foul smelling air from his body cavity back to his nose. It mixed with the sweet metallic scent of Dean's blood. He looked down. He was sitting in a pool of mingled blood and bodily fluids.

Sam retched at the stench and the pain, as torn muscles tried to react, sending him close to unconsciousness. A deep voice, soothing and warm like melted honey running over his torn and distressed spirit kept him just this side of awareness.

"Sam, Sammy! Son, I need you to reach out. Break the circle and let me in. I can help you. Sammy."

"Dad?" Sam whispered forcing his eyes open.

The image of his father shimmered in the rapidly gathering gloom.

"It's getting dark," Sam said, straining to see.

John turned away momentarily to the door. The rising sun was streaming into the cabin. It wasn't getting dark, his youngest son was dying.

"Sam, break the circle, I can help you and your bother."

"Dean's dead," Sam sighed, his eyes drifting closed.

"Sam! Don't you give up, not now," John shouted at him. He was kneeling as close to the edge of the other circle as he could, without touching the salt or the symbols, reaching out towards Sam.

Sam's eyes cracked open again.

"Dad?"

"I'm here son. Follow the sound of my voice. I need you to break the circle. Can you do that Sam? Sam?"

Slowly and painfully Sam pulled himself along the floor. It was only three feet to the edge of the circle but it seemed as far away as the moon.

"That's it, you're nearly there Sammy, you're nearly there," John encouraged him.

Being preternaturally careful Sam reached across both circle boundaries, his hand open and palm down.

"Dad," he hissed.

John took his hand, as Sam squeezed it once then let go, pulling himself back behind the barriers again.

John sat back suddenly. He felt very strange; a shiver ran through him, then a feeling of great weakness. Gasping he leaned against the wall of cabin. His hand where Sam had touched him was tingling. Briefly the symbols, which had been written on Sam's palm in Dean's blood, glowed on his skin. He recognised only some of the meaning behind them.

Sam was face up on the cabin floor.

"Dad?" Sam's voice was less than a whisper.

Unable to ignore his child John stood and found, to his surprise, he could walk across the salt lines.

"Sammy, Sammy what did you do?" he asked gently, holding and stroking his son's face.

He could see his son's lips moving and had to bend down to hear.

"Bind and protect."

"What do you mean? Bind me. Protect me from what?"

He saw a brief flicker of a smile cross Sam's face.

"Seany, it's start…" Sam coughed unable to finish, a rivulet of blood ran from his mouth across John's hand.

"What's started? Sam? Sammy?"

John wiped the blood away, desperately trying to summon the power he should have access to, to heal his sons.

Sam's head lolled between his hands, his eyes seemingly fixed on his Dean's face. John held his child's head and closed his eyes, concentrating. The energy well he usually tapped into just wasn't there. He couldn't reach it. He tried again, summoning every ounce of concentration he possessed. Nothing. Dean's eyes were wide open staring into infinity, Sam's eyes were dull, the light gone.

John took a deep breath, the cabin and surrounding woods reverberating with his pain as he screamed,

"Noooo!"

Sean woke suddenly. It was early, earlier than when he usually awoke. Frowning he turned over in his bed.

"Seany, it's start…."

"Sam?" he said out loud.

There was no soft voice talking to him in his head after those three words. He tried again.

"Sam?"

The warmth he labelled Sam was gone. No goodbye, no see you later, nothing. He whimpered. It hurt! He tried to reach out to Dean but that spot was cold too. Far too cold. He switched back to Sam. Still nothing. He opened his mouth and screamed.

Blanche ran into his room. She picked him up to comfort him, thinking he'd had a bad dream.

"Sam," he wailed, big tears running down his face, "Saaaam!"

"Sam's not here, sweetheart. He's OK."

"No," he warbled, "Sam's gone. We've got to go to him."

"I think you had a bad dream darling. Sam's OK. We can ring him."

Sean refused to be comforted. Blanche picked up the telephone and rang Sam's number, several times. Each time it went to voicemail. So she tried Dean's number, which rang out before going to voicemail.

"Go to Sam?" Sean asked in a pitiful voice.

"Oh Sean love, I don't know where to find him."

"Go to Sam," he said again.

"Sean, we can't go to Sam if I don't know where he is."

"I know," Sean said.

"What?"

"I know."

"How do you know?"

Her son shrugged in her arms.

"Can you tell me where he is?"

Sean leaned his forehead against his mother's. Blanche saw in her mind's eye a cabin, trees surrounding it. The door was ajar. Inside was the stuff of nightmares; blood, a dead man by the door. Another man sitting on the floor. Sam's tall form leaning against the older man's chest, cradled there. Dean's head was resting on the man's thigh.

"John?" she said aloud.

It was John. It couldn't be. But it certainly looked like John and the man was behaving as if he were the boys' father. He was resting his hand on Dean's chest, holding Sam to him; both young men were obviously dead. John's face was awash with tears and grief. Blanche put her hand to her mouth feeling the bitter acid taste of bile rising at the scene inside the cabin. Then she was travelling; out of the cabin, though the forest, onto a track, then onto a metalled road, then onto an interstate. That road she knew. It was about an hour and a half north of her home.

"Go to Sammy?" Sean asked, hopefully.

She nodded, her face twisted in worry. Sean adored Sam, and it looked like both his half brothers were dead.

Sean wriggled, so she put him down. He took her hand and tried to tow her, as best he could, towards the door.

"Hey."

"Go to Sam, and Daddy."

"We can't go right now."

Sean stared at her from under his eyebrows and said very distinctly,

"Now."

Blanche looked at him suddenly not very sure if she knew her son as well as she thought she did.

The courtroom was packed, the many sounds overcoming what should have been dignified proceedings. Dean looked around himself and thanked whatever gods could hear him that he was at the front of the room. The 'public' benches were filled with a variety of unpleasant creatures most of whom he had hunted and killed at some time or other. At the desk across the aisle from him a pretty brunette young woman was seated between two young, flashy musclemen. The men turned and eyed him coldly. The woman smiled, her eyes flashing yellow.

"Better than your last appearance, dude," Dean said, his tone admiring.

"Impressive Dean, still led by your dick, even here," she replied dryly.

The two men snarled and hissed at him, showing mouthfuls of long sharp teeth.

Dean grinned and faced forward. He could feel the symbols Sammy had drawn on his hand tingling at the show of menace.

"Way to go Sammyboy," he muttered.

At the front of the courtroom a pillar of fire ignited, stretching from floor to ceiling. The heat and light was intense. Dean drew as far back as he could in his chair then he noticed that everyone else was bowed low. The heat battering his skin got worse. Hurriedly he scrambled to his feet and bowed as low as he could. The heat abated from scorching to merely uncomfortable. Hearing the rustling sound of many different types of bodies being seated he risked a look. Everyone else was seated but all eyes were turned in his direction. He could even feel the pillar of fire turn its interest towards him.

Swallowing he tried to remember what he had read in Sammy's computer file. Clearing his throat he said,

"I bring this case as a breach of contract."

What appeared to be a cross between an extremely large rat and a hellhound chittered from the corner of the courtroom. When it had finished, all eyes turned towards Dean again.

"Um, I'm sorry I didn't understand that."

The creature came nearer and made the same noises.

Dean shook his head.

"Any chance someone here can translate?"

The air around him got hotter. Hazarding a guess that he'd just made a legal faux pas he said,

"I'm sorry your honour, I don't understand what he…. it, is saying."

One of the musclemen on the far side of the Deva laughed scornfully and said something in the same type of chittering language the first creature had used. A wave of what would appear to be laughter spread throughout the public area. The muscleman added something in an undertone. Instantly a finger of fire shot out from the pillar vapourising him. The Deva and its remaining muscleman looked shocked. The court was silent. So much so that footsteps heading towards the front of the court captured everything's attention. Dean turned to see Sammy, dressed in a sharp suit, holding a briefcase and looking very good coming towards him. He pushed through the gate and said loudly,

"May I approach the bench my lord?"

There was a booming bell like tone. Sam made a graceful bow and said,

"Thank you my lord."

He moved directly in front of the pillar of fire and bowed again.

"My brother and I are plaintiffs in a breach of contract action against the demon known as the Deva. I apologise to the court for my tardiness but I have only just gotten in a position whereby I can prosecute this case."

The bell tone sounded again then Sam made his way back to the desk to sit with Dean. He looked at his brother and raised his eyebrows. Sam ignored him and opened his case extracting a sheaf of papers.

"Dude?" Dean asked, a myriad of questions in the one word.

"Later Dean, I need to concentrate."

Sam picked out a paper and handed it to the chittering creature. The creature took the paper and offered it to the fire where it was instantly consumed.

"As you can see from the paper offered by the usher, we are bringing this case under the standard terms and conditions of demonic pact. More specifically, in return for the a) the weapon known as the colt and it's one remaining first cast bullet, and b) the life and soul of our genetic father, John Winchester, the Deva agreed that John Winchester's children would not be killed by supernatural means."

Sam was pacing in front of the court room, in front of the pillar of fire, looking every inch the lawyer he had been training to be. Dean licked his lips. Sammy being this dominant and dressed to kill was getting him very hot under the collar, and it wasn't just because 'my lord' had whacked up the calorific value in the courtroom either.

"There is some dispute over the secondary clause of 'no harm by supernatural means'. Whether this means no physical harm or damage which can be healed is not completely clear. As a side issue we intend to prosecute this claim also. My brother and myself have been harmed, on several occasions, by supernatural means, after the advent of the contract and, at this moment, we are both dead, by the hand of a supernatural creature. This is a clear case of breach of contract. We claim complete restitution as compensation from the Deva."

At this the young woman leapt to her feet.

"Objection my lord!"

The court room grew appreciably hotter as 'my lord' took exception to the Deva's outburst. Quickly she bowed and then said,

"My lord, I beg leave to defend this case myself."

Her request was apparently granted as the second muscleman perished in another show of flames from the bench. Sammy sat, and calmly brushed the shower of ashes from his papers.

The woman stood.

"The Winchester brothers have been extended every courtesy in the matter of their alleged harm," she laid heavy emphasis on the word alleged, "and deaths by supernatural means. They have actively prevented John Winchester from helping them. I have offered all the means at my disposal to stand by the terms of my contract. If they choose to forgo this, I cannot help them."

Sam smiled, his eyes flashing a bright green which shocked Dean.

"This court is convened to investigate a breach of contract. At no point in the standard terms and conditions offered to John Winchester does it say his children must accept his help."

A rash of chatter, squeaks and whoops broke out in the public benches, then quietened.

"It simply states that John Winchester's children must not come to harm or be killed by supernatural means. The Deva has allowed both harm and death to come to John Winchester's children by supernatural means."

The usher chittered and quiet fell again. Dean leaned towards Sam and asked,

"Can you really understand all this?"

Sam nodded, picked up his brother's nearest hand and began to write on the back of it with this fingernail. As Sammy finished Dean began to understand the language.

"A translation spell," Sam whispered softly.

"My lord demands silence," the usher said, "Before judgement is passed what restitution would you demand?" It asked Sam.

He stood and replied,

"We demand full and complete restitution. The Deva has not kept to the terms of its own contract therefore the life and soul of John Winchester are to be returned to the physical dimension, without any life threatening injury, his genetic offspring, Dean and Samuel Winchester are also to be returned to the physical dimension, again without life threatening injury."

"Wait!" the young woman said. "Samuel Winchester is not John Winchester's true son. He has abilities implanted by me. He is my child."

The young woman threw a triumphant look at her opponents. Dean looked between her and Sam, shocked. Demon's lied, all the time, but somehow he didn't think it would lie here.

"Agreed. Samuel Winchester is not John Winchester's true son but he is his genetic son. Samuel Winchester demands separate restitution from the Deva for the implantation of the powers."

It felt very odd to Dean for Sam to be referring to himself in the third person.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Dean hissed.

Sam smiled at his brother, and pressed his palm to Dean's cheek.

"You always knew Dean, deep down you always knew."

"Maybe, but you don't want to let this lot know!"

"Yes, I do. Absolute truth in here Dean, strangely enough."

A harsh deep voice from the pillar of fire said,

"We agree to your terms Samuel Winchester. Do you agree to abide by the terms of my judgement?"

"I do, my lord," Sammy replied, standing and bowing low then he faced the fire.

"So be it," the voice croaked.

Dean could feel himself becoming insubstantial with each passing moment. Sam was looking at him, a slight smile playing about his lips.

"Be happy Dean," he whispered.

"Not without you Sammy, never without you!"

Dean fought to stay with his brother, to remain by his side and share whatever punishment the dark lord demanded. It wasn't right, it couldn't be right that Sammy would have to pay the price for the Deva's interference from before his birth.

John tried to go outside the cabin to get help but then found out the meaning of Sam's cryptic utterances. He couldn't get past the door; he was bound to this place. He suspected the protection bit was against the Deva although he wasn't certain. He wasn't entirely sure if he was visible to anyone else apart from his sons either. Having no choice in the matter he'd spent the time he had preparing his son's bodies with the materials to hand. He closed their eyes, washed the blood and fluids from their skin, bound up Sammy's wounds as best he could by tearing the clothing he found into strips and winding it around him. He moved both his children away from the spilled blood to the opposite corner of the cabin, where it was relatively clean, and settled against the cabin's wall, pulling Dean's head onto his lap and holding Sammy against his chest and then he'd let his scalding bitter tears fall.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, a parent was not supposed to outlive his children. Or be brought back to witness the deaths of his children.

Some hours later John heard the sound of another vehicle approaching the cabin. He pointed Sam's bloody gun at the doorway and sat quietly waiting. The last thing he expected to see was a four year old little boy rushing into the room, and without showing any fear or disgust at the blood and mess, run straight up to John, climb on his knee and lie against his chest, facing Sam. Outside John heard Blanche shout,

"Sean, no!"

Then she was facing him in the doorway, holding a gun on him.

The reality was so much worse than in her vision. The stench of drying blood, bile and other fluids was getting stronger as the cabin heated up.

"Blanche," John said, trying to hold onto the little boy and his two other sons. The gun came off a bad fourth as he dropped it to the floor.

"What happened, John?"

"Think it was a werewolf attack."

"How did you get back?"

"Part of my deal, I get to keep my children safe," he said softly. "Only this time it didn't work. Sammy wouldn't let me help them. I don't understand why he let his brother and himself die."

John broke off as sobs racked him. Blanche lowered the gun.

"I got here and Sammy put a spell on me before he….. before ….. Bind and protect. I can't leave the cabin. I don't understand Blanche," he finished brokenly.

"It's to keep you here 'till they get back," Sean said, without stopping stroking Sammy's hair.

John's face screwed up even more, as he tried to hold back his anguish at the little boy's words.

"Sean, love. Sam and Dean, they're not coming back," Blanche said softly, looking at John in apology. "I'm sorry darling."

Sean looked at him mother, a pitying look in his eyes.

"Yes, they are," he said confidently.

Blanche dropped her eyes, unable to think of a way to convince her son that Dean and Sammy had perished. She came forward and dropped to her knees at Dean's side, carefully pressing her fingers to the uninjured side of his neck. No pulse leapt beneath her fingers. His skin was cooling, she noted, his complexion taking on the waxy yellowish hue of a corpse.

"I'm just going out to the car Sean, are you alright?"

Sean nodded, quite happy among the carnage.

She brought her medical bag into the cabin. Taking out her stethoscope she listened for heartbeat and breath sounds, in both Sam and Dean, finding neither. It was hard to tell John that. He just nodded and kept his hand on Dean's shoulder. Sean was keeping himself facing Sam.

"How long has it been since they passed?" Blanche asked quietly.

"Around dawn," John replied. "Why are you here?"

"Sean insisted. He woke up screaming just after dawn this morning. Insisted we had to come to Sammy. He…," she coughed, uncomfortable with what she was going to say. "He showed me where you all were."

John looked down at the little boy nestling comfortably on his chest.

"You think he's another one of the psychics?" Blanche asked, looking at her son.

John sighed, "I don't know any more Blanche. I just don't know."

It was a few minutes later when John realised the skin under his hand was warming, and moving.

"Blanche," he said.

"Yes?"

"Dean's breathing."

"Sorry John, no he's not."

"Yes, he is."

Sighing she took her stethoscope from around her neck and then pulled back suddenly. Dean's skin was warm, hurriedly she listened to his chest; breathing and heartbeat, all present and correct. She checked under the makeshift bandages, the skin was whole. No dreadful gaping wounds at all.

"Yes, he is," she agreed. She looked up to see John's eyes flicker closed and his head drop forward. "John! John!"

When there was no answer she picked Sean up and set him down on the floor, then gently placed Sam on the floor as well. Moving Dean out of the way she got John lying down then fetched the chair and propped his legs on it, elevating them. John's skin felt damp and he looked pale.

Dean opened his eyes, looking around the cabin.

"Sam?"

"Dean, it's Blanche."

Dean sat up. Immediately Sean transferred his attention to his older half brother.

"Hi kiddo."

"You're back," Sean said smiling and putting his arms around his neck for a hug. He seemed to be quite happy there watching as his mother tended to John.

"Dad?"

"Dean?" John mumbled. He barely opened his eyes but reached out to touch his son.

"Dad what's wrong?"

John shook his head slightly.

"John, are you feeling nauseous?" Blanche asked.

"Yeah."

"Dizzy, headache, weak?"

"Yeah."

"What's wrong with him Blanche?" Dean asked.

"I think I know, I won't be long. Are you OK with Sean?"

"Fine."

Blanche got up and headed outside to the car. Returning a few minutes later with a large cool box.

"Picnic time?" Dean asked.

"I travel with a four year old, Dean. I always bring supplies," Blanche replied.

"Juice?" Sean asked hopefully.

"Juice," she agreed, pouring some into his feeder cup and handing it to him. Then she poured some into another cup put a straw in it. Helping John up, she insisted he drink. It took a while but eventually he finished that cup and another one. The she offered him a sandwich.

"Not hungry," he said. He looked around seemingly confused. "Dean, where are we?"

"John, you need to eat, your blood sugar level is in your boots."

He grunted then accepted the sandwich. "Did something attack us?"

Dean looked at his father curiously.

"Werewolf."

John turned to his right.

"Sam? Sammy!" John looked at Blanche in panic. Blanche looked at Dean.

"John, let me take a look at you."

"What's happened to Sam?"

"Keep still John," Blanche said, making a quick examination. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Hospital. We were in a car wreck. Do we need to get Sammy back to hospital?"

"Sam doesn't need a hospital John. Dean, take your father outside, and talk to him."

"We can't leave Sammy."

"John!"

"I know you're a doctor Blanche, but I'm his father!"

"I know, I know you are," she said, her tone softening. "Go with Dean, he'll explain."

John allowed his eldest son to help him to his feet. As they went towards the door John cast a curious look at the pool of blood in the corner.

He didn't have any difficulty leaving the cabin.

"Sean, you know the old blanket I keep in trunk? Can you bring it in here for me please?"

Juice cup in one hand Sean toddled off to fetch the blanket. Whilst he was gone Blanche too the opportunity to straighten Sam's body out. He was stiffening with the beginnings of rigor, even in the heat of the day. Post mortem lividity was evident on the back of his arm and along his side where he'd lay against his father. She saw the boy's bags and hunted through for a shirt. Sean returned with the blanket. She thanked him as she went on with her task of re-dressing Sam, giving Dean time to go through the last four years with John outside. Sean watched as his mother smoothed down the shirt, brushed Sam's hair away from his eyes and generally made him look presentable. Lastly she covered him with the blanket. She remained kneeling beside him then leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

"I'm so sorry Sam," she said quietly, a tear tracking down her scarred cheek.

Outside she could hear John and Dean crying together. Unwilling to intrude upon their grief she sat, letting Sean scramble onto her knee.

It was late afternoon when the two red-eyed men came back into the cabin. Before they set about the task of salting and burning the body of the werewolf, John walked over to where Sean was dozing on his mother's lap. Gently he ran a thumb down the side of the sleeping child's face.

"You and me need to have a talk when I've got my head straightened out," he said quietly.

"Think we're a while past the talking stage, John." She smiled to soften her words.

He turned to Sammy, lying at her side. Fresh tears tracked down his face, into his beard. He gripped his son's shoulder, then got up and left.

Between them Dean and John dug a pit, a little way from the cabin, put the werewolf's body in there, covered it with salt and then gasoline and set it on fire.

Inside the cabin Sean woke up and bounced uncomfortably on Blanche.

"Don't do that Sean, please," Blanche said.

Sean grinned and did it again.

"Stop it! I need to pee and you're not helping!"

He giggled.

"Mummy gotta go."

"Yes, Mummy gotta go."

"I'll stay with Sammy."

Obligingly he got off Blanche's knee and went to sit beside Sam, close enough to touch his hair.

This attachment to Sam's corpse was worrying her. They wouldn't be able to put off burning his body for much longer and she didn't want to even imagine the reaction her son would have to that event. However, at the present time, her bladder had a better claim on her attention than her son.

"Don't wander off," she admonished him before making her way to the outhouse.

When she returned both Sam and Sean were missing. The blanket had been left, along with the makeshift bandages John had used on Sammy.

She ran outside, extremely astonished not to have heard Sean's screams from the outhouse. There was no way she was going to allow Sean to sit and watch Sam's body burning. Surely John, tough, hard man that he was, would know better than that.

She ran across to the two men standing beside the pit. There was only one body in the pit.

"Where's Sean?"

Dean and John looked at her.

"Thought he was with you," Dean replied.

"You check around the back Dean, I'll look around the front," John said immediately, knowing the fear and panic when a child wanders off. Dean and Sammy had done that to him a few times in their childhood.

"Sean! Sean!" Blanche shouted as she followed John.

John's deeper voice sounded a few seconds after hers, then Dean's voice.

A cry of, "Oh god!" stopped Dean in his tracks; he ran back to John and Blanche.

Blanche was holding a squirming Sean in her arms, John was staring, thunderstruck, at the Impala. Limned by the golden sunshine from above, small midges dancing in the air between them, Sammy sat on the hood of the car, enjoying the afternoon heat and light. Suddenly Dean was across the small clearing and had knocked Sammy back against the car, his lips mashed against his brother's, kissing him like his life depended on it.

"What fucking took you?" Dean questioned, pulling back for an instant.

"I had a score to settle," he replied quietly, his eyes shining green. "Did you explain this bit to Dad as well?"

Dean looked over his shoulder. John hadn't moved.

"He's a bright guy, he'll work it out," Dean said, sounding far more confident than he felt.

For a few seconds there was complete silence then John was there, hugging Sam tight enough to make his ribs creak.

"I've missed you so much Dad," Sam whispered.

Blanche took them to her home to eat and sleep. They talked far into the night. John's face ached from smiling so much. He was so proud of his sons, and he had begun to make the acquaintance of his newest son too.

Sam told them the Deva was gone, really gone. It was as much as he was prepared to admit to knowing with Blanche and John in the same room. Dean then pointed out something to his father.

"You can't go back to hunting, Dad. Or the hunters will be hunting you. They all think you're dead. Hell, we've already had a few after Sammy."

"What?" John said, his face darkening in anger.

"Because of the visions, the psychics are supposed to be the Deva's ground troops, or some of them," Sam said.

John dropped his gaze.

"I know, Dad. Dean told me," Sam said.

John could hardly meet Sam's level look.

"It was the right thing to do, Dad. I don't blame you for that."

"You know I told your brother to kill you if you started to go bad, but you still spent four years working out how to get me back. There's more saint than sinner in you, son."

"I had a good family they taught me well."

As they split up to get some sleep Sam and Dean jokingly handed their father a packet of condoms, then beat a hasty retreat to their room, they heard Blanches' raucous laughter as their father told her the joke.

Much later after they'd quietly made love, lying in each other's arms, Dean asked,

"What did take you so long to get back?"

"I forced the Deva to tell me what they did to Dad."

Dean was silent for a few minutes before he asked after swallowing hard,

"How bad?"

"Bad. The pain that I felt when he contacted me that one time, it was from being left in isolation. He thought he was hallucinating contacting me. They left him human enough to crave being with people and non-human enough not to die from the lack."

"That's why you took away his memories."

"The Deva had to do that. Dad was literally out of his mind, Dean. That's why it always took time for him to get to us if we were injured. The Deva had to straighten him out enough to help us first."

"I hope that bastard had its ass sent to the far reaches of Hell."

"Not exactly," Sam said softly, staring up at the ceiling.

"What did you do?"

"The Dark lord swapped them over. It sent Dad back, minus his memory, and sent the Deva to take Dad's place, for eternity."

Dean's laughter woke Blanche and John.

"Sex is obviously a lot more fun at that age," Blanche said.

"Glad we're our age. That would be very off putting," John replied, cuddling up to Blanche.

© Sioux 13.4.07


End file.
